


we could be alright

by shorttfuse



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 13:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11990796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shorttfuse/pseuds/shorttfuse
Summary: If a kid falls in a forest and Connor is the only one around, what the fuck is he supposed to do about it?Canon Divergence AU, starting from the moment Evan breaks his arm.





	we could be alright

**Author's Note:**

> Listen: I haven’t written anything longer than a tweet in years. I’m also warning you now that this...probably isn’t great? It’s more an experiment in me finishing a goddamn fic than it is me worrying about quality or even really looking over what I’ve written. I just want to prove to myself that I can write something longer than 1,000 words, even if it sucks.
> 
> Additionally, my knowledge of DEH comes solely from the cast album and a handful of fics, so apologies for any massive mischaracterizations/etc
> 
> I’ll do my best to put up warnings before each chapter, but if something slips through the cracks that you think should have a warning, let me know. I imagine it will be pretty similar to what you would expect out of canon, trigger-wise. 
> 
> For chapter one: Warnings for references and thoughts of self-harm (specifically cutting), drug use (marijuana), Evan’s suicide attempt.

Connor’s pissed.

That isn’t like, a _new_ feeling for him, or anything, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s fuming, filled with the kind of restless, raging energy that tends to end in thrown printers or dented lockers or threatening to kill his only sister. He feels like a bomb, pressure sensitive, like one touch could set him off, leaving him and everyone around him shattered and exhausted in the aftermath.

The morning had been shitty, which is, again, typical. He’d woken with the kind of ringing in his ears and numbness in his limbs that usually only pot or a blade across his skin could temper. He’d tried rolling over, burrowing back under the covers and intending to sleep the day away if at all possible, but of course he had no such luck. Not ten minutes later he felt the corner of something hard dig into the back of his calf before tumbling to the floor. Blearily, he peered over the edge of the bed, and then his gaze fell on the figure in his doorway.

“Get up,” Zoe snapped.

Connor blinked. “Did you throw a book at me?”

“I’m not coming in there; the whole room reeks.” Her tone was angry, but Connor’s not stupid. He knows she was just afraid to come any closer.

“What do you want?”

“Get up,” she repeated. “Mom made gluten free pancakes, or whatever. And try to act like a real person, for once. The Harrises are coming over later.”

Connor has never once done anything but be himself while the Harrises were over. That’s probably what she was afraid of. “Fuck off,” he said, and closed his eyes.

Ideally, that would have been the end of it, and he could have spent the rest of the day hiding in his room -- as much as someone could hide in a room with no door -- napping and smoking and...staring at the ceiling, he guessed. Waiting it out. But, after Zoe stormed off, Cynthia came up and tried to coax him out of bed, too, and when that didn’t work Larry showed up to yell at him, and then Larry and Cynthia were yelling at each other _about_ Connor, _in Connor’s room,_ and--- anyway. He ended up throwing on his jacket and storming out of the house before he could punch another hole in the wall and pretend it was Larry’s face.

He didn’t have a destination in mind other than away, so he walked and smoked his way through the last three cigarettes from the pack in his jacket, hoping it would calm him down. It didn’t, just made him feel restless and twitchy when they were gone and he had nothing left to occupy his hands. But by then the sun was beating down hard enough that he regretted not changing out of the sweatpants he slept in, and he wasn’t about to walk all the way back just to grab another pack or lock himself in the bathroom while his family made nice with Mr. and Mrs. Harris and their bratty kids.

Which led to where he was now, he guesses: fuming, and sweaty, and looking for a good place to sit in the shade and smoke the slightly-crumpled joint he had forgotten about in his jacket pocket.

He ends up in Elison State Park. It’s not one of his go-to spots, or anything, but he had walked farther from his house than he thought, and it does provide his only two requirements at the moment: shade and solitude.

Connor follows the signs for one of the walking trails, going along until the forest starts in earnest and he’s unlikely to be stumbled across. Normally he wouldn’t care, but as much as he doesn’t give a fuck about getting caught with weed he absolutely does not want to deal with anyone today.

He thumps down at the trunk of some big tree, wondering if the pounding in his head is from dehydration or anger, if the shaking in his hands is because of barely-reined-in fury or because he hasn’t eaten in nearly two days. He feels so out of control of his body, these days.

Connor’s just pulled out his lighter when he hears a shaky voice say “okay.”

Connor startles so badly he drops the joint in the dirt beside him. He whips his head around, looking for whoever’s spoken, but he doesn’t see anything until he looks up. A little ways away is some kid climbing up the branches of one of the biggest trees Connor’s ever seen. He keeps repeating himself every couple of branches, “okay, okay, okay.” Connor wonders if he’s afraid of heights or something. He makes it to the top, and Connor waits to see if anyone follows him -- parents or other teenagers playing hide and seek or whatever. It’s been ages since he’s played, but he imagines forty feet up a tree is a pretty good hiding spot, all things considered. The last time he played was with Zoe, and he hid in the huge cabinet under the desk in his dad’s office for nearly an hour before Larry came in to yell at him for going in there without permission and Zoe complained he was cheating.

No one shows up. The kid sits with his feet dangling in front of him off the edge of the branch, back towards Connor, head facing the forest floor below. If Connor was going to climb a tree he feels like he wouldn't be looking straight back the way he came, especially if he was afraid of heights. He's gripping the branch with both hands, until very suddenly he isn’t.

It’s the opposite of slow motion. Everything around Connor seems to move at breakneck speed, and it’s just Connor who’s too slow. Connor blinks, and the kid is falling through the air, hitting branch after branch on his way down. Connor blinks, and the kid hits the ground with a loud thump that feels impossibly loud. Connor blinks, and everything is silent and still. The kid doesn’t move.

For a moment, Connor is rooted to the spot, heart pounding. Oh, god. Is he dead? Did he jump? What the fuck is Connor supposed to do if he’s dead? He doesn’t even know who it is. If he is dead and Connor was the only one around when it happened, will they blame Connor? They probably would. Everyone has been waiting for him to snap and murder someone for years.

Then the boy-shaped lump on the ground moves. Connor scrambles to his feet. For a brief moment, he considers just walking away. The kid never saw him. No one has to know he was here. But a wave of guilt follows immediately after, so strong he nearly staggers under it. Disgust curdles in his mouth like rotten milk, a tangible sensation. Even Connor isn’t that much of an asshole, except for how apparently he is.

He walks towards the kid, cautious. The kid doesn’t move again, though, just lays there on his back, taking these deep, shuddering breaths that, if nothing else, assure Connor that he’s still alive. One of his arms is bent at an angle that shouldn’t be possible, but beyond that Connor can’t tell how much damage was done.

As he gets closer he realizes two things: the kid is wearing a park uniform, and Connor is pretty sure he knows him. He thinks they might have had English together last year, or maybe Geography. Probably English, if Connor can recognize him at all. He doesn’t think he showed up to any other classes enough to even know who was there. He thinks his name might be Evan. He was a shy kid, kind of jumpy, but if he ever spoke to Connor (unlikely) he never said anything bad enough to put him on Connor’s radar, so that’s a point in his favor.

Add a third: the kid-- Evan -- is crying. His face is scrunched up like he just ate a lemon, eyes squeezed tight, but the tears are coming through anyways. He doesn’t even notice Connor walking up.

He stops a couple feet from Evan’s face and just kind of...stands there for a second. He opens his mouth, not sure what he’s going to say until he says it.

“Are...you okay?”

Evan’s eyes burst open, lightning quick, damp and wide and absolutely terrified. He pushes himself up but must not have realized how obviously broken his arm is until he tries to put pressure on it. Evan lets out a cry of pain and curls in on himself, body tucked up and around the arm cradled to his chest.

Nice one, Connor.

He crouches down, trying to get on eye level with Evan and maybe stop him from looking quite so panicky, though he’s not sure being face to face with Connor, the school psycho, is liable to help.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to -- I just.” Connor’s grasping at straws, here. Anybody else would be able to help better than he could. He’s sure Zoe would know what to do right away. Connor, though? He has no precedent for this, no behavior patterns for anything resembling comforting or soothing actions. The most soothing thing he knows involves smoking, and he already lost the joint he had. He doubts Evan is the type of kid that would smoke, anyways.

Then again, he never thought Evan would be the type of kid to throw himself off a tree branch three stories high for shits and giggles either, but here they are.

Life’s full of surprises, or what the fuck ever.

“Hey, listen, Evan -- your name is Evan, right?” No response, just more gasping breaths and shaking shoulders. Connor decides to barrel through. “I’m Connor. Uh, Connor Murphy? From school? You fell, or...jumped, or something, out of a tree and probably broke your arm.” Why is he telling Evan this? He’s sure Evan already knows. “Anyways, are you -- is anything else broken? Do you need me to call an ambulance? Just nod or shake your head.”

Evan’s head twitches back and forth where it’s pillowed on his unbroken arm in an approximation of a head shake, which is good. That’s good, right? That means he’s at least understanding what’s happening right now, and he doesn’t need an ambulance. Then he starts laughing, hysterical and ugly and painful, which is less good.

“I m-messed it up,” Evan says through the laughter. “Of course I messed it up, why wouldn’t I mess it up.”

Connor’s starting to think that maybe this guy is as unhinged as people say Connor is. “Messed what up? What the fuck?”

It’s hard to understand him, between the stutter and the crying and the fact that Evan’s mouth is pointed towards his own stomach, but Connor does his best. “I jumped out of a tree, and you--you saw it, s-so now you can go t-tell everyone at school that i’m a. That I’m crazy, and, and then Jared will find out, and he’ll tell my mom, and my mom, she’ll -- she’ll freak out and worry about me and I...I didn’t even die.”

Well. What is he supposed to do with all that? Evan doesn’t exactly seem any calmer, but at some point he stopped laughing, at least. Fucking creepy.

“Listen, if you wanted to die you should have picked somewhere at least 50 or 60 feet up, just for insurance, and definitely not anywhere there are fucking tree branches to slow you down as you fall. That’s just, like, basic physics.” Shit. Fuck. Maybe he should have kept that bit of knowledge to himself. “And fucking...I’m not sure if you noticed, but I don’t exactly have a big social circle to talk to, so the likelihood of me starting some huge rumor about you leaping out of a tree because you thought you could fly or whatever when school isn’t even in session is pretty slim.”

Evan, of course, says nothing through all this. He’s still heaving these big, audible breaths, but at this point Connor will take what he can get. “Look, I’m going to go find someone, okay? Just...stay here, and don’t climb any more trees.”

Connor rolls back up onto his feet, takes a grand total of one step, and nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand shoots out and wraps around his calf.

“What?” he snaps. He looks down at Evan and instantly feels bad. The kid looks pathetic as shit, face blotchy and damp, doe eyes wide. There’s a twig sticking out of his hair. Connor thinks about last spring, about his dad shouting at him and about him over a hospital bed, and then very deliberately thinks about nothing at all.

“Don’t,” Evan rasps. “Don’t leave me here. Please, I don’t...don’t leave me here.”

“I’m just going to get someone who can help.” Evan’s grip tightens on his sweatpants. “Fine. Okay. I’m not going anywhere. Do you have a phone? Like, your boss’s number, or something?”

Evan lets go of Connor’s leg and to awkwardly dig around in his opposite pocket. He pulls out an old iPhone. The glass is completely shattered. Evan tries to turn it on, but nothing happens.

“Shit, okay. If you won’t let me leave, you’re going to have to come with me. You need to go to the hospital or something. Can you stand?”

Evan nods. “I-I think so.” It takes them a minute, and Connor has to help heave him upright when Evan’s legs start shaking too bad to stand on his own. Connor’s a stoner, okay, he doesn’t exactly work out on the regular, and Evan’s heavier than he looks. They stand there for a second while Evan tries to compose himself, one of Connor’s hands wrapped around the bicep of Evan’s good arm just in case he decides to take another, shorter dive into the dirt. Idly, Connor wonders about the last time he touched another person that wasn’t to shove them out of the way or be shoved himself.

It’s been a while.

Eventually, Evan nods. Connor lets go, and they set off down the trail towards the visitors center in the front of the park. His whole palm itches. Connor pulls out his lighter and plays with it between his fingers, wishing, not for the first time today, for another cigarette.

Neither of them say much of anything in the 15 minutes or so it takes to walk back to the front of the park, and if Connor’s being honest, it’s awkward as hell. At one point Evan starts trying to apologize , but Connor cuts him off before he can really get going and they both fall silent again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor tries to check for any other damage than the broken arm. He’s not walking with a limp or anything, and other than the occasional shaky inhale, even his breathing seems to have mostly calmed down. It looks like the arm took the brunt of the damage. Connor imagines there’s probably a bruise or two forming somewhere, but Evan lucked out. Connor guesses that depends on your definition of lucked out, though. Probably Evan doesn’t see it that way.

The twig is still poking out of Evan’s hair. Connor grips the lighter so hard his knuckles turn white, rather than reach over and pluck it free.

They make it to the visitors center, and Evan stops so abruptly that Connor nearly runs into him. He turns around to face Connor, glances at Connor’s face and immediately down to the ground again.

“Uh,” he says. “Thank you for...for not leaving me back there, I guess, and not calling anyone, and for uh, for everything, really, sorry, I’m really sorry. You don’t have to, to hang around now, I’m fine and I can get a ride to the hospital from my boss or, I can call Jared, maybe, if he isn’t busy, I’m okay. Sorry, you don’t care about any of that, I’m sorry, just, uh. Sorry. I’m fine. I just….I just fell out of the tree, because the branch started to break and I wasn’t paying attention and I lost my grip, so. It’s fine. You can leave now, if you want.”

Connor blinks. He opens his mouth, but the door to the visitor’s center swings open before he can get any words out. A tall, buff middle aged man with dark skin and a uniform similar to the one Evan’s wearing walks out and pauses when he sees them, looking between them with a smile that slips off his face the longer he looks.

“Hansen?” he says. “Is everything okay?”

For a guy that just spewed out about a hundred words in 10 seconds, Evan is doing really good impression of a mime. He opens and closes his mouth a few times but can’t seem to get any words out. Maybe he has a quota. Maybe he used them all up.

“He fell,” Connor eventually says, when it looks like Evan really isn't going to. Evan shoots him a grateful look. “He was climbing a tree and the branch gave way and he broke his arm. He needs to go the hospital.”

The guy--his name tag says James--looks at Evan in alarm. “You were supposed to be checking stream levels with Florian and the other interns, why on earth were you climbing trees?” He shakes his head. “Nevermind, we’ll talk about it later.”

He pulls out a ring of keys and tosses them to Connor, who catches them, but only just. “Take him to my car, it’s the dark blue truck in the employee lot. I need to grab an incident report from my office.”

Before Connor can say anything, like about how he actually has to leave, or that maybe this guy shouldn’t hand someone who both looks and by most definitions is a juvenile delinquent his car keys, he’s pulled a phone out of his pocket and is heading back inside the visitor’s center.

Connor looks at Evan. “Do you know where the employee lot is?”

“Y-yeah?”

Connor nods and gestures in front of him. Evan takes the hint and starts walking. Once again, Evan doesn’t say anything, but he’s gone white as a sheet and looks a little like he’s going to be sick. Connor broke his ankle at a soccer game once when he was younger, probably first grade. He remembers going numb after the first spark of pain, and having it sneak back up on him again on the ride to the hospital. By this point, Evan’s probably hurting a lot more than he’d say.

Connor helps Evan up into the backseat of the truck. He considers handing Evan the ring of keys and starting to walk back home. Instead, he walks over to the other side and slips into the seat behind the driver’s chair.

He keeps thinking about what Evan said. “I fell.” Connor knows what he saw. Connor doesn’t know Evan very well, exactly, other than he goes to Connor’s school and hasn’t been an asshole to him and works as an intern at Ellison State Park. It’s enough to know that Evan doesn’t deserve to die. That Evan doesn’t deserve to _want_ to die.

What do you say to someone you catch trying to kill themselves and lying about it? Connor thinks about the single sleeping pill he’s been taking from Cynthia’s cabinet once a week while she’s at yoga and Larry is at work since January. Twenty pills. By the end of the summer he should have enough to be completely confident it will work. What can Connor tell this kid that wouldn’t be a useless platitude?

_You’ll be okay. It’ll get better._

Bullshit. Things have never once gotten better for Connor. Every day is an exercise in killing time and finding new ways to fuck up and get fucked up.

Connor doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“Hey,” Connor says. “You’ll probably get a cast, right? On your arm?”

“Oh, ummmm. Probably? Yeah?”

“Can I sign it?”

Evan blinks at him. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“S-sure. You can sign it, if you want.”

“Cool.”

In the end, Connor rides with Evan and James to the hospital. He just...he’s not sure what Evan would even _do_ in a fifteen minute car ride with another person, but he feels like if he leaves Evan alone until he gets there Evan will die for real and it will be Connor’s fault.

James seems like an okay enough guy. He spends most of the ride lecturing Evan on park safety rules and like, making sure someone knows where you are in case of emergency and all that. Evan mostly nods along and stutters out apologies and platitudes. Connor doesn’t really listen, just stares blankly out the window as they drive, fiddling with the lighter in his pocket.

There’s a weird moment when they pull up to the ER where James puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder and thanks him for helping Evan and being a good friend, but to be careful next time and not distract his best Junior Ranger while he’s at work. Connor stares blankly at him until he walks around the car to make sure Evan gets out okay. But. Other than that, he seems alright.

After they check in at the front desk, James bustles them over to a couple of chairs in a relatively out-of-the-way corner of the waiting room. “Evan, I have to go back to work. I left Kate in charge while I was gone and...well. You know how well that’s likely to turn out.” He looks apologetic about it, at least. Connor doesn’t know who Kate is or why leaving her in charge is such a bad idea, but Evan nods, so presumably he understands.

James looks at Connor, who is hovering between the chair and the exit, unsure of his next move. He pulls a pen and little pocket sized notepad out of one of the pockets of the uniform--is this guy real?-- and scribbles something down. “Here’s my number. Call me if something comes up and you two need a ride home or anything, okay?”

Connor takes the paper and nods, dumbfounded. James looks at him for a couple of seconds, then pats Connor on the shoulder and leaves. Connor guesses that makes his decision for him. He slips into the seat next to Evan.

After a couple of minutes of staring at the fish tank in the middle of the waiting area, Connor says “He thinks we’re friends.”

Evan, also seemingly transfixed by the aquarium, jumps. “What?”

“Your boss,” Connor says. “He thinks we’re friends and you ditched work to hang out with me.”

“Oh,” Evan says. “Um. I’m sorry, I’ll explain--”

“It’s fine,” Connor cuts him off before he can really get going. “Just weird.”

“Well, what if--I mean, we could, uh…...” Evan bites his lip, shakes his head.

“What?”

Evan shakes his head. “Nevermind, it was stupid. Sorry. Um. Thank you for staying. I can use the phone at the desk to call my mom or someone to come pick me up when I’m done, you really don’t have to stick around. I’m, I’m sure you have other things you’d rather b-be doing right now.”

Connor shrugs. “I’ll wait.”

Evan frowns but doesn’t say anything else. They both go back to staring at the aquarium. It’s nothing impressive, just some small, generic fish with some fake plants and a few plastic pieces intended to make it look like a shipwreck. There are these vibrant little red and blue guys darting around the bottom part of the tank that remind Connor of Zoe. He had walked in on her dyeing parts of her hair in the bathroom a few months ago, sitting on the lid of the toilet seat and holding a comb between her teeth. Connor had almost offered to help, but couldn’t quite get the words out. Zoe saw him standing in the doorway and yelled at him to get out, anyways. The color looked like that, though. Bright blue and obvious among the rest of the dull crowd. Connor wonders which one is him, but it’s probably one of those fish that you can’t put in the tank with others. A beta fish, or something. One of those ones that will fight its own reflection.

Typical.

The longer he sits there, the more awkward he feels. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. But he doesn’t want to leave Evan sitting here alone, or explain away why he has to go, so he just stares at the fish and hopes for an end to this weird, shitty day. Eventually a nurse with a clipboard comes out and calls Evan’s name. Connor sands up so fast he gets whiplash and almost has to grab onto the chair for support.

“You have a ride home, right?” He asks Evan.

“Y-yeah. My mom should be done with classes, soon, unless she has to work, in which case I can call Jared and he’ll probably come get me, or, or at least his mom will make him come get me, and if not I can just walk home, I like walking and I don’t live very far away, really, it wouldn’t take that long, but my mom can probably come pick me up anyways so it doesn’t even matter, and even if it did I can call James, and. Um.”

“So...you do have a ride?”

Evan nods very rapidly. “Yes. Yeah. Yes.”

“Okay. Well, bye,” Connor says, and is out the door before Evan even makes it over to the nurse.

His whole body is itching again. He just wants this day to be over. He just wants it all to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're curious:  
> tumblr [@shorttfuse](http://www.shorttfuse.tumblr.com)  
> twitter [@shorttfuse_](http://www.twitter.com/shorttfuse_)


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